


Murderers at Midnight

by anonymous_dragon



Series: Month of Halloween [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 'Cause he hates that he's misunderstood, Blood Analysis, Cops, Detective Dean Winchester, I wanted Lucifer and Gabriel to be the murderers, Implied Angel Lucifer, In exchange for something though, It's doubtful, Just another name, Loki isn't Gabriel, Loki's just a message, Loptr is Loki, Lucifer Feels, Lucifer Helps, Lucifer's adorable, M/M, Misunderstood Lucifer, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Lucifer, References to Norse Religion & Lore, but it didn't pan out that way, he doesn't ask for much, i guess, i think, murder case, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_dragon/pseuds/anonymous_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam have a case and they haven't got a clue as to how to solve this one. Then a psychic shows up in their library. He offers some help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murderers at Midnight

Dean stared down at the body. The third one this week, and there wasn’t even an MO. Sam was being all Dexter about the blood, insisting that the key was there, somewhere. They had taken pictures, samples, and tried everything. The only thing that really tied together the cases was a pile of candy wrappers left only at the first murder scene and this one.

It didn’t add up, and Dean couldn’t stand it. Another person could die any day now, and, here they were, sitting on their asses and twiddling their thumbs. The first two scenes had no DNA except that of the victims; this one wasn’t going to be different. There would be no fingerprints, no hair strands, and no clothing fibers. Whoever was killing these people, they were damn good at covering their tracks.

“Dean,” Sam called, crouched over the body. Gloved hands were tracing over the cuts made, and Dean shuddered.

“Sammy, really,” Dean complained as he walked over. “You’re making me worry about you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I think we’re dealing with two different killers, Dean. There’s the one who killed the first vic and this one, and the other killer, who got to the second.”

“So there’s Candyman and the Devil?”

“Dean, those weren’t demonic sigils,” Sam said, sounding like he had already explained this. “It was Enochian. A weird version of it, sure, but it was definitely Enochian.”

“Hey, the Devil used to be an angel, right?”

“Yeah, whatever, Dean,” Sam shook his head. “It’s Candyman and the Devil, or whatever you want to call them. Point is, look.” Sam gestured to the efficient cuts to the victim’s wrists and throat. “Same kind of cuts as the first vic …”

“But the second had her guts split open.” _And removed to be used as party favors …_ There was a moment of silence, both Winchesters thinking back to the disturbing scene of the second murder. “So, what? Candyman and the Devil having a little pissing match to see who’s the better killer?” Sam shrugged, going back to inspecting the cut at the victim’s throat.

“I guess, but I can’t be sure,” he said, focused more on the victim than Dean.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“It’s just a hunch, but …” Sam pulled out a pair of tweezers and slowly revealed a folded up sheet of paper. “Huh.”

Dean stared at his brother. “You find a note in a victim’s neck because of a hunch, and all you say is _huh?_ ”

“Well, what am I supposed to say? But make a note. We’re visiting the morgue later. I want to check on the first vic.” Sam carefully unfolded the piece of paper. “Oh, great.”

“What?” Dean asked, trying to read the paper upside down. Sam turned it around for him. “Loptr? What the hell is that?”

“Bad news,” Sam answered. “Loptr’s another name for Loki.”

“You mean like from the Avengers?”

Sam gave his brother a _how stupid can you be?_ look. “No, Dean. I mean like the trickster god from Norse mythology.”

“So, we’re dealing with a psycho …”

“Who likes to think himself a Norse god, yes,” Sam finished.

“Sounds like fun.”

“It sure does,” Sam replied, dropping the piece of paper into an evidence bag. The two stood, nodding to Chief Singer on the way out.

“See ya tomorrow, Bobby,” Dean grinned.

“Ya idjits stay outta trouble, ya hear?” Bobby said. “And make sure your brother don’t stay up all night researchin’.” Dean gave Bobby a thumbs-up as the brothers walked away. They got into the Impala, practically synchronized, and Bobby rolled his eyes. _Those boys move too much like clockwork sometimes._ Bobby shook his head.

The Winchesters drove home. Their out-of-the-way, it’s-bigger-on-the-inside bunker was just how they left it. Thank God for paranoid grandparents.

Okay, well, they _think_ everything is how they left it, until they find a man just standing in their library. So he’s browsing the books, but the notion still stands. He shouldn’t be there.

Dean has his gun out and pointed at the man before Sam can even get a syllable out. The man turned towards them and smiled.

“I was wondering when you two would get back. It’s kind of lonely in here. Do you guys even know how huge this place is? It’s like Hogwarts in here,” the man said, before looking over some more books, humming. Dean disengaged the safety on his gun with a _click._ Sam glanced between Dean and the stranger before sighing.

“Dean. Ask questions first. Shoot _later,_ ” he mumbled, grabbing Dean’s gun. He reengaged the safety.

“Sammy,” Dean complained as Sam put the gun away.

“Dean.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, but Dean finally backed off with a scowl. “If he kills us, it’s your fault.”

“If some random stranger can get the jump on both of us, it’s _our_ fault, Dean.”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the man said without turning to look at them. “That would be counterproductive.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Dean snarked. “Damn glad a random stranger that broke into our home doesn’t want to hurt us.”

“Now, now, Dean, there’s no need to be nasty,” the man tutted. Neither Winchester asked how the stranger knew their names: Dean was too busy being flippant, and Sam was taking the moment of banter between his brother and the stranger as a chance to pay attention. “Is this how you treat all of your guests?”

He wasn’t dressed exotically. In a crowd, this man wouldn’t stand out because of his clothing. As far as his appearance went, this man was ordinary. Around Dean’s height, the man wasn’t too terribly tall, though maybe slightly taller than the average male. He had short blond hair and blue eyes. There was a hint at a shadow across his lower face, but it was only barely there.

“No, but I sure as hell don’t remember inviting you to the party.”

Though, that’s where the “normal” things about this man stopped. Sam just had a feeling that, in an actual crowd, this man could part the people like Moses did the Red Sea. His presence seemed to demand attention—it didn’t ask for your focus; it commanded it.

“Come on, Deano. Where’s the fun in being invited? I thought you’d at least understand the appeal in crashing parties.”

And, it may have only been Sam, but he could swear up and down that he _felt_ something coming from this man, something he couldn’t explain.

“Sorry, not really the type. See, I was always invited to the parties before I graced them with my presence,” Dean grinned, but his eyes weren’t in it. Sam could tell Dean felt the same thing he did. “Now, why the hell are you here?”

“You catch more flies with honey, Dean,” the man sang. Sam sighed.

“Please, uh, sir, would you mind telling us why you’re here?” Sam tried. The man beamed at the taller Winchester.

“I wouldn’t mind at all, Sammioes. I’m here because I can help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Dean spat.

“Oh, so, you _aren’t_ dealing with three cases of murder? You _aren’t_ dealing with the possibility of two killers? You _aren’t_ dealing with a Loptr note found in a poor woman’s neck?”

The Winchesters stared.

“How did you know about that?” Sam managed. The man shrugged.

“I know things.”

“Are you saying you know who the murderers are?” Dean asked. The man shrugged again. “Tell us, you great bag of dicks.”

“Dean, I don’t think you should,” Sam warned.

“What, so you’re siding with him, Sammy? Some stranger you just met that broke into our house?” Dean barked. Sam shook his head.

“What? No. I’m just saying that I think you might be jumping the gun is all. He says he wants to help us, and you’re jumping to the conclusion that he means trouble, Dean. Just take a moment and think, okay?” Sam rationalized. Dean glared at the man.

“We don’t even know who he is, Sammy. And you want to trust him?”

“I never said trust. Call it benefit of the doubt, yeah?”

“The name’s Lucifer, by the way,” the man jumped in. “In case you care.”

“See? He’s named after the freaking _Devil,_ Sam. How much—” The Winchester brothers stared at each other for a long moment. _The Devil,_ Maybe it was just a coincidence, but one of the murderers had just been dubbed the Devil that day. Lucifer pouted.

“Really? That’s where your minds go? To the Devil, King of Hell and Origin of Sin? Why does no one ever think of God’s second-in-command, the leader of His choirs, the first angel?” Sam couldn’t help but think that Lucifer looked like a kicked puppy, which shouldn’t work for the man, but, somehow, it did. “Lucifer was the Bright and Morning Star at one point, you know. He just didn’t want to bow to anything before his God. That’s even in the Ten Commandments. ‘You shall have no other gods but Me, because I am a jealous God.’ You can’t put anything before the Lord, but God still asked Lucifer and the rest of the angels to do so, to put humanity before Him. Why is it that Lucifer was cast out because he followed God’s command?”

The Winchesters blinked. “Well, it certainly sounds like you’ve made this argument before,” Dean said at last. Lucifer shot him a look plainly stating _you have no idea._

“Sorry about the … misunderstanding, then, Lucifer,” Sam hurried to say. “Now that you mention it, it is kind of strange, but the Lord works in mysterious ways, right? Though, absent and confusing fathers are certainly something Dean and I can relate to.”

Dean gave Sam a look. _What the hell are you doing?_

Sam shrugged. _Just go with it._

Dean raised his eyebrows. _What?_

Sam only shrugged again. Dean looked exasperated. Lucifer hummed.

“Anyway, back to me helping you. Are you two in?” Lucifer asked.

“Depends,” Dean replied. “Is there a price?”

“Well, I have to get something out of it, too, so yeah, but it’s nothing you’d be offended by or anything,” Lucifer shrugged.

“Oh, really?” Dean asked. Lucifer grinned.

“Yeah, really. I just want to take dear Sammy here out for dinner.”

Sam’s heart felt like it stopped, and Dean started choking.

“You want to help us … in exchange for a date with Sam?” Dean inquired, just for confirmation’s sake. Lucifer stared blankly at Dean.

“That is what I said. Is there something wrong with your hearing, Dean?”

Dean took a step forward, but Sam blocked him, clearing his throat. “Dean. We need help with this one and you know it,” he said. Dean looked like he was about to protest, but Sam spoke first, turning towards Lucifer. “Sure, it’s a deal. Dinner at the Roadhouse tomorrow at seven a good time?”

Lucifer grinned. “Perfect. I’ll see you then. You’ll find your killers together at the abandoned wood chipping factory on the other side of the town. They’re meeting tonight at midnight. I’m sure you can handle them from here, right?”

“How do you know they’ll be there?” Dean questioned. Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

“I told you. I know things.”

“Yeah, but how?” Dean pressed. Lucifer rolled his eyes.

 _I’m psychic,_ he projected to the brothers. The Winchesters looked more than startled. _Now, I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven, Sammy._ Lucifer winked before disappearing.

Sam could’ve almost sworn he heard something, almost like a faint whoosh of wind or maybe feathers or something, but then Dean was calling dispatch, and Sam forgot about it.


End file.
